Last weekend, a bunch of my Poo friends went to the Ohio Redoubt and left me to my own devices. They partied: I moped. But Rose and Sophie and Bing felt for me and have returned to buck me up.
Here’s Sophie with her concerned look.

And, of course, comforting Rose.

Here’s soft and cuddly Bing.

And, finally, here is the temp the agency sent over to help me – only she has decided to stay and become our “whip you into shape” Poo.

She likes things “just so” and don’t let the hearts on her smile fool you. I asked her name and she said it was on a need to know basis and we could call her Boss for now.
Who knows, I may wind up comforting Rose and Sophie and Bing.

Cameron has been reluctant to be near a camera in the past because he was overweight – which sort of means he fit in his genes. HAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHHAAHHA cough,cough. Okay, moving on.

He has been exercising and dieting and today he let me get a picture:

I’m working on getting a smile.

In the big scheme of things, it is not that dramatic a thing – this going up into the attic on repaired steps, but in my little world, it is a landmark. It is a project continuing. Today I enlisted two helpers and bucket-brigaded boxes up to  place for non-Christmas storage.  What the occupants of the boxes do while they are up there is okay with me, as long as they clean up after themselves. Let the bells jingle! Let the nuts crack! Let neckties that play a Christmas tune when squeezed play away. (Maybe, the batteries will wear out.) It’s a live and let live world in the attic.

What was uplifting was the downward spiral of collapsed old boxes as I tossed them down to the lobby on their way to the trash. Ah, the lobby, you wonder. This is it in a nutshell: The house was enlarged and what was the fourth bedroom became a room that linked the original hall to a new bedroom and a large room over the garage. It’s a crossroads. It needs a skylight because it’s too much like an imagined windowless waiting room in some KGB days, although it doesn’t have a lone lightbulb hanging from the ceiling. It has a lone light fixture.

Back to the jettisoned collapsed boxes: It is a tiny nod to order.

I am ignoring the fact this is a post of unordered paragraphs that ramble off on their own. Too much, too fast might prove to be dangerous to my health.

I just had a bunch of little adventures – tiny adventures. Not even adventures,  just random bits of activity. I went and paid property taxes. On the way, I saw gas was at $3.22, but didn’t stop because I had a lot in my tank and decided hacking my cough in the chill wasn’t a good trade off for a couple of gallons. Maybe on the way back, I thought. I also figured by the time I got back home, the price would have gone up. My luck, dontcha know?

Indeed, when I passed the station again, the price was still $3.22 so I went around the block and pulled in. I put my card in the slot and the price popped up to be $3.19. I turned and watched the big sign change numbers. Woo-Hoo. Three cents.

My luck was three cents – not a lottery win – just three cents. Then I coughed and decided maybe my original win was not getting pneumonia and the ‘three cents times the number of gallons’ was the change left over in my winnings once I had redeemed my “Get Out of Pneumonia” card.

However, not to be too impressed with the good luck thing,  I must keep in my mind that a young bank officer informed me the lockbox from which I had retrieved my mother’s will following her death wasn’t accessible to me because they had no proof my father was dead and that my key (smirk, smirk) wasn’t a lock box key. To placate me, he tried it and by gosh and hold onto your pants, it worked. But he couldn’t use his matching one because . . . my father wasn’t listed as dead.

Actually, I guess there was a little adventure in my day.  It is probably what will be start of “The Lock Box Saga”, volume to be determine of the Nancy Drew series.